Anna took it back.
Riding a horse was hard. Horribly difficult, in fact.
She glared down at the chestnut gelding. Lightning, the stable hand had informed her, although Anna couldn't see why; Lightning was currently chewing on grass, looking about as mobile as a fish stranded on a mountain. Horns blew in the distance. The hunting party was getting ready to set off.
She gritted her teeth.
Well. It was now or never.
Anna snapped the reins. Lightning huffed out a puff, his breath curling in the frozen air. Then he went back to eating grass.
"Stupid horse," Anna muttered.
Someone giggled.
She whipped around. Teagan was sitting on a haybale, her little slippers kicked out in front of her. Someone had sorted her blonde hair into plaits, and mud stained her petticoats. Anna narrowed her eyes.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
"A while." Teagan grinned, revealing a new gap in her teeth. "You're not very good at riding horses, are you?"
"And I suppose you could do better?"
"Depends." The young girl hopped up. "Do you have a lollipop?"
Anna sighed. Gods above. She felt sorry for whoever had to deal with this girl long-term — she was going to be an awful teenager. Anna fished out a green lollipop, handing it to Teagan, who popped it into her mouth.
"Steer with your legs," Teagan suggested. "Not the reins."
"Then what are the reins for?" Anna asked.
"Stopping."
Anna stared at her. "But then what is—?"
"Teagan?" The voice sounded exasperated. "Tee, are you in here?"
The girl paled. "Oh, no."
"Teagan?"
Ryne entered the stables. He wore tall brown boots and a riding jacket, his brown hair scattered about his face. Two red spots burned on his cheeks. Fever or the chilly air — it was difficult to say. He stopped dead as his eyes landed on Anna.
"What are you doing here?"
"I was asked to come," Anna said.
"By whom?"
She ignored this. "How bad are your symptoms?"
"Are you sick, Ryne?" Teagan asked.
They both turned to Teagan, who was sucking on her lollipop. Ryne ruffled her hair. "Just a little cold, Tee."
"You, too?" Teagan wrinkled her nose. "My tutor has a cold. Anna had to come give him a tonic yesterday. And she had to give one to our driver, too."
Ryne's green eyes glittered. "Did she?"
Teagan nodded. "And my piano instructor. And your valet. And—"
"Alright," Anna cut in, her cheeks heating. "I think he gets the point." Ryne didn't need to know that most men in the castle had asked for her, following her new title as his mistress. She frowned. "I didn't realize you knew His Majesty so well, Teagan."
The young girl gave her an odd look. "Of course I do. He's my cousin."
Anna almost choked. Her cousin? But that meant — gods above, that meant — Teagan was a Delafort? She gripped the reins. She'd assumed that the girl was a courtier's daughter, not a gods-damn royal. She had played chess with Teagan. Read stories to her. A Delafort girl.
"Well," Ryne said dryly, "at least I know who's been spoiling your supper." He flicked the end of Teagan's lollipop. "Aren't you meant to be in lessons?"
She looked at him innocently. "Am I?"
"You know perfectly well that you are."
"But it's maths." Teagan pulled a face. "I hate maths."
Ryne's face softened. It was strange to see him like this, Anna thought. Strange to see him being so gentle. She had the oddest urge to look away as Ryne scooped his cousin up, placing her in a hayloft.
"If you're going to hide," Ryne said, "at least do it well." His face was grave. "And for the record, I never saw you here."
Teagan grinned. "Thanks, Ry."
Ryne clicked his teeth. To Anna's irritation, Lightning lurched forward, falling into an easy step beside the king. Blazing sunshine blinded her as they stepped out into the chill, the horse's hooves crunching over the snow. A knot of figures in red hunting jackets were waiting for them at the edge of the woods.
"I thought you were angry with me," said Ryne.
"On reflection," Anna said, "I've decided to forgive you." Lightning slowed, and she squeezed her thighs, which the horse ignored. Naturally. "Does Teagan often skip her lessons?"
"Every chance she gets." Ryne was breathing hard. "I was like that, too. I've always preferred horses to books. Camille thought I was mad."
"She lives at the castle with you?"
"Yes. Teagan's father — my uncle — passed on last year. She came to live with me shortly afterwards. Her brother Eris is..." Ryne hesitated. "He's difficult. Let's just say that it wouldn't have been easy to live with him." He waved at a man, who led a horse towards them. "She seems to like you."
"I think she likes the lollipops."
"Thank-you," Ryne said quietly. "For looking after her. Despite what I — what happened between us."
His green eyes said the rest. When I humiliated you.
Anna tilted her head. Was he being sincere?
Fortunately, Ryne's horse spared her from the decision. The creature arrived, and Ryne swung on to it without hesitation, his body strong and fluid. Anna eyed the black horse skeptically. She knew little about animals, but that one looked big. And scary.
"You do know how to ride, don't you?" Ryne asked.
"Of course," she lied.
"And hunt?"
She met his gaze. "I never miss a shot, if that's what you're asking."
Ryne nodded. "Be careful. Lightning's the fastest horse in all of Wynterlynn, and he's got a nasty temper, too." Anna gave him a skeptical look. Ryne patted Fang's neck. "Just try not to fall off, anyway. Or get shot."
Ryne's thighs squeezed, and then Fang shot forward, galloping towards the woods. Two figures shot after him: Isaac, a sword strapped to his back, and Camille. Anna swore, snapping at the reins. Lightning looked unimpressed.
"Move," Anna hissed. "Move, you great brute."
Lightning ate a daisy, his large teeth chomping happily.
"Move!"
Anna kicked her legs, and this time Lightning listened. The horse set off at a merry trot, just keeping pace with the back of the group. A few riders shot her curious looks, but nobody commented on her presence. Then again, Anna thought, everyone watched Ryne's little show the other day; they all knew better than to question him.
She drew up next to a middle-aged courtier. He was fumbling with his bow, cursing as he attempted to knock an arrow. A bad shot, especially given his thumb positioning, Anna thought. The man raised his hand, calling for silence.
There was a rustle in the trees.
A deer.
Anna could see its horns peeking through the underbrush. The man turned towards it, raising his bow. It was going wide, she thought, or hitting the deer in the leg, at best. And indeed, moments later, the arrow sunk into the deer's right flank.
The man swore viciously. Tarquin grinned.
"Bad luck, Orin," he called. "Next time, perhaps."
The man grunted. He turned his horse in the opposite direction, and Anna frowned. "Where are you going?"
"I missed, didn't I?" Orin said.
"You can't just leave it like that. It's in pain."
Orin shrugged. "It'll die, eventually."
Fury swelled in her chest. "Get the deer."
Orin's lip curled. "You may be the king's mistress," he said, "but you're still a common whore. And I don't answer to you."
Orin smacked his horse. Anna watched as he rode away, her jaw clenching. Well. That was rude. She sighed, glancing after the deer. There was nothing for it. She'd have to put the poor creature out of its misery herself, then.
Anna dug her heels in the horse's side. Lightning sprang forward, trotting obediently after the creature.
The woods grew thicker. Darker. Anna glanced around at the white skeleton trees, stripped bare of their leaves. There were rumours of monsters in these woods, big mountain cats with fangs longer than your forearm, but she wasn't frightened. After all, Anna thought, there was nothing to fear when you were the worst thing that hunted in the shadows.
With that thought in mind, she plunged deeper into the forest.
Ryne rubbed at his eyes.
He'd spent most of the morning struggling to stay upright in the saddle. Pain radiated through his skull, bumping in time with his horse. Liquid fire filled his lungs. Ryne forced himself to smile. To laugh at his courtiers' jokes. He was all too aware of Isaac and Camille riding next to him, twin guard dogs ready to spring.
He couldn't show any weakness.
This hunting trip was too important.
Not only was it a chance to get out of the castle, but it was a chance to show that he wasn't afraid. To show Elsie's murderer that they were strong. And sometimes, perception was everything.
Ryne slid off his horse. They had stopped for lunch by a little stream, and several courtiers had braved the chilly water, their canvas trousers rolled up to their knees. Camille had flopped down on a blanket, a book propped open on her lap. His advisor, John, was laying out strawberries and cheese scones.
Ryne drew closer. He wasn't hungry — he never was when the illness started — but he forced himself to pick up a scone. Take a bite.
Warm dough melted in his mouth. It tasted of chives and cheddar, of summer days and lazy afternoon naps. Ryne blinked.
"Did Cook make these?" he asked.
Camille shook her head. "I ordered them."
"From where?"
Ryne was going to order a dozen more. And then maybe whatever else the bakery had to offer. Camille bookmarked her page.
"Holloway and Co." Camille adjusted the red ribbon in her hair, the exact shade of her hunting jacket. "I thought it would be a nice surprise for Anna."
Ryne put it together. "Her father owns a bakery?"
"Yes. In Grim's End."
John frowned, his hand hovering over the strawberries. "Are you talking about the new healer?" When Camille nodded, his frown deepened. "She told me that her father was a healer. That's how she learned her trade."
Camille looked puzzled. "You must have misunderstood."
"No," John said. "She was quite clear."
Camille lifted a delicate shoulder. "Perhaps he's a man of many talents."
Ryne stared at the scone. The dough was cloying now, coating his mouth in sticky, shapeless dough. Anna had told him that a friend's mother, Celeste, taught her to heal people. Which meant that she'd lied at least twice.
He wasn't surprised. Ryne went through most of life assuming that people were liars; it was the best way to ensure that you were never caught unawares.
But he was disappointed.
"Excuse me," Ryne muttered.
Ryne rose, making for the horses. Isaac stood in the clearing, squatting down to brush his horse's legs. There was a restlessness to him, Ryne thought, but then again, Isaac had never been very good at sitting still; he ate sandwiches pacing around the garden, and he preferred swimming in the river to baths. Sitting on a picnic blanket for an hour was akin to torture for Isaac Webb.
"Have you seen Anna?" Ryne asked.
Isaac ran the brush down a leg. "I think she's in the water. Why?"
"Nothing."
Ryne wasn't about to volunteer that information just yet. Isaac sat back on his haunches, studying him with wary grey eyes.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'd be doing a lot better," Ryne said, "if you'd quit asking me."
"It's my job to worry."
"You can't worry forever," Ryne said. "Eventually, you'll have to take over Highcliff. Appoint a new Captain of the Guard." He held out an apple to Fang, who sniffed it, nostrils flaring. "Get yourself a pretty wife and kids."
Too late, Ryne thought of Elsie. Isaac's face shuttered.
"Maybe I don't want all that," Isaac said.
"Fine." Ryne kept his voice light. "Several mistresses, then."
He expected Isaac to smile, but his face was unusually serious. "I want a wife. You're right about that."
There was no avoiding it. "If this is about Elsie—"
"It isn't," Isaac said, surprising him. "We were involved for a time, but I broke it off. The night before she..." He swallowed. "Before it happened."
"You did?"
Isaac's grip tightened on the brush. "I'll miss her, but not how you're thinking. Not as a man would miss his wife."
"I see."
"Anyway, I never loved Elsie like that. Not truly. I never wanted to hold her or joke around with her. Not like I want to with—" Astonishment flitted across his face. "Not like I want to, with someone else."
"Gods above." Ryne's eyebrows flew up. "So there is someone that you fancy." He patted his horse's neck. "Do you hear that, Fang? Someone has finally held Isaac Webb's attention. It's a miracle."
Isaac looked exasperated. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to," Ryne said. "You're in love."
"I'm not in lovewith her, I just—" Isaac broke off, groaning as he took in Ryne's smug expression. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"
"You make it easy."
There was an awkward pause. Unease swelled in Ryne's chest. They had never finished their conversation about Nightweavers the other day — not properly, anyway — and he was about to bring it up again when a sharp pain punctured his lungs.
Ryne winced.
It was only a moment, but Isaac caught it. "Where is Anna?" He scanned the hunting party. "She was meant to bring a tonic."
"So you're the one that invited her."
Isaac ignored this. "Seriously. Where is she?"
Ryne scanned the water for a familiar dark head. No sign of her. Cold gripped him. "Who was she last riding with?"
Isaac's face tightened. "Orin!" He waved a hand at the nobleman. "Orin, come here for a moment."
The man stumbled towards them. He was swaying, clutching a waterskin that likely contained booze. His ruddy cheeks were chapped with wind. "Great shot back there, Your Majesty. Hit that buck dead on."
Ryne inclined his head. "Is Anna with you?"
"Anna?"
"My..." He paused. "The healer."
Orin's eyes narrowed. "Ah. No. Lost her in the woods." He raised the waterskin. "She went chasing after a deer I hit. Told her it would die, but she didn't seem to believe me." He chuckled. "Bloody healers. Soft-hearted, the lot of them."
"And you left her?"
Orin shrugged. "She chose to leave, Your Majesty."
Ryne's jaw clenched. He could kill him. Take this drunk, loud-mouthed nobleman and toss him straight in the river. How the hell had Orin let her go off alone? For gods' sake, there were wolves in this forest. Wolves, and heaven only knew what else.
Ryne would have killed him, too, if he wasn't Orin Grayson — uncle to Thomas Grayson, a friend of the Delaforts.
"Where?" Ryne demanded.
Orin blinked. "What?"
"Where?" Ryne said, seizing a fistful of his jacket. "Where did you leave her?"
Orin looked alarmed. "I don't know!" Ryne shook him and he held up his hands. "I don't remember the exact location, Your Majesty. She was moving northwards, I think. Following the creek."
That was all Ryne needed to hear.
He dropped Orin, vaulting on to his horse. Isaac's face tightened. "Ryne." His voice was a warning. "Don't you dare."
Ryne dug his heels into Fang's side.
"Ryne!" Isaac surged forward. "Gods above, there's a murderer on the loose!"
But Ryne was already hurtling forward, his body pressed flush to the horse.